Parallel Lines
by poetzproblem
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets from various universes.
1. Flash

**Author's Note:** Most of these were originally posted on tumblr but were never archived until now. Unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

The first drabble is set after _On My Way._ The prompt was _"Quinn sees two aspects of her life flash before her eyes: Beth and Rachel."_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Glee _or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

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><p><strong>Flash<strong>

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><p>They say that your life flashes before your eyes in the moments before you die—that you see all your loved ones, every wonderful moment, and the not so wonderful ones. Maybe it's an electrical reaction in the brain—a rapid playback of every stored memory triggered by adrenaline—or maybe it's the hand of God, reaching down to hold a mirror to your life before issuing judgment.<p>

In that split second when the glass shatters, the sickening crunch of buckling metal crushes bone and rips into skin, and the air is forcibly wrenched from her lungs, Quinn sees nothing of the life that she's lived. Instead, she sees the life that could have been.

She sees Beth, blonde and beautiful, angelic face split into a wide grin and joyful with childish laughter. She feels a tiny, warm hand secure within her own and hears a sweet little voice call her 'mommy.' Quinn's heart feels painfully full, and she bends to scoop her daughter up into her arms, reveling in the solid weight of that promising, little life pressed against her chest. Chubby hands cup her cheeks and miniature hazel eyes shine brightly into her own.

Quinn has never known such a perfect moment.

A single heartbeat passes.

Another hand appears, darker than her own, brushing the backs of gentle fingers against Beth's cherubic cheek. Quinn's gaze follows that hand, up along the arm until she's looking into wide brown eyes so full of love and adoration that it takes her breath away. Rachel smiles at her, soft and tender and sweeter than any smile that she's ever given to Finn Hudson. '_My pretty girls_,' she whispers lovingly, curling her other hand around Quinn's waist as their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Quinn feels warm and safe, with Beth in her arms and Rachel's arms around the both of them.

Another heartbeat passes.

Beth's little arms tighten around Quinn's neck, and Rachel's lips grant a kiss, wet against the corner of Quinn's mouth. '_I love you_,' she hears in that melodic voice that has carried her through the last three years.

That voice that carries her.

"I love you," Quinn rasps on a broken sob—_both of you_, she thinks as the moment slips away and the life that could have been disappears.

And that voice carries her…


	2. You Should Have Been There

****Author's Note:** **Drabble written for a tumblr photoset made by im-subtextsexual. Set after the episode _Choke_.

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><p><strong>You Should Have Been There<strong>

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><p><em>"You should have been there, Quinn. It was like a nightmare."<em>

"_I was there, Rachel. My heart broke for you."_

Rachel's eyes sting with the tears that have been constant companions since Carmen Tibideaux callously ended her dream of NYADA and New York. She drags in a ragged breath as she stares at the floor. Quinn was there at her audition? She'd seen?

"I…I don't know what to do," she whispers brokenly. "I feel like I'm stuck in some horrible dream, and I can't wake myself up." She turns to Quinn, desperation seeping into her voice without her consent. "How do I wake up?"

Hazel eyes are shining with sympathetic tears and the sight of them makes Rachel feel sick. She's looking down at Quinn, because Quinn is in a _wheelchair_. Her own pathetic failure is _nothing _in comparison, and her shoulders hunch in shame. She's crying harder now because she realizes that her nightmare started months ago—with Quinn's accident. Nothing is happening the way it's supposed to. She can barely even recognize herself anymore, and all she wants is to be able to close her eyes and wake up at the beginning of senior year and do everything over again.

Quinn should _hate_ her now—she should be shaking her head in disappointment and wheeling away—but instead she's reaching out her hand, seeking Rachel's and holding on for all she's worth. "Open your eyes, Rachel," Quinn commands gently. "New York is still right where it's always been, waiting for Rachel Berry to steal the spotlight and never give it back."

"But I blew my chance at NYADA…"

"So what?" Quinn growls. "It's one school. Did Patti LuPone go to NYADA?"

Rachel shakes her head, "N-no, but she graduated from Juilliard."

Quinn ignores her, squeezing her hand and leaning forward in her chair, eyes blazing with intensity. "Did Barbra Streisand go to NYADA?"

Rachel gasps, and her eyes widen. Barbra hadn't. She hadn't even gotten into the Actor's Studio. She'd taken acting lessons from a friend. Quinn sees the glimmer of realization light Rachel's gloomy expression, and she offers a crooked smile.

"You don't need some prestigious program to become the next Barbra, Rach."

Rachel wants to believe—she does—but it's not that easy. She shakes her head sadly. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Quinn, but…it's more than getting into the school I wanted, okay? I…I just…lost it. I forgot the words and I…I couldn't move past that moment. The show must go on, and a performer has to be able to recover from those moments, and I…I couldn't."

Quinn sighs and tugs on her hand, pulling Rachel closer. "Hey, look at me," she urges, waiting patiently until Rachel brushes away her tears and meets Quinn's eyes. "I've screwed up so many times, Rachel. You've seen me do it…seen me at my lowest…and you're the one who's always reminding me that I'm better that I know. Well, it's my turn now, so listen to me. You…you are better than you know, Rachel Berry, so don't you dare give up on yourself now. If you do," Quinn pauses, voice crackling with emotion, "if you do, then what hope do I have?"

Rachel closes her eyes and chokes back a sob. "Oh, Quinn…no…you…you're getting out of here. You have Yale…"

"Because you helped me realize that my mistakes don't define me. Yours don't define you either, Rachel. Please don't give up on your dreams because of one set back. You belong in New York, on stage, and someday soon, I'm going to be sitting in the front row on opening night, watching your debut on Broadway. I've always known that."

Rachel stares down into Quinn's earnest face, and her breath hitches. "Y-you really believe that," she murmurs in awe.

"Of course I do. You're Rachel Berry," Quinn says with a shrug, as if that's all the explanation that Rachel should need. Looking at Quinn—the girl who was once her biggest critic—Rachel feels her heart flutter oddly, and without even thinking, she sinks down into an awkward semi-squat and wraps her arms around Quinn's shoulders, burying her nose into crook of her neck.

"Thank you, Quinn," she whispers, feeling a tiny spark of hope reignite in her soul.

Quinn's arms circle her waist and pull her as close as she's able. "Don't thank me, Rach. Just promise me that you won't forget who you are, okay?"

Rachel pulls back, smiling for the first time in three days. "I promise to try, and if I have trouble remembering, I know you'll remind me."

"You can count on it," Quinn vows with an odd glint in her eye, and Rachel has never believed in anything more.


	3. Let Me Be Your Star

**Author's Note: **Ficlet written for Faberry Week in December 2012 for the Crossover prompt. Smash!Faberry.

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><p><strong>Let Me Be Your Star<strong>

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><p>She's halfway through her second mental performance of <em>Don't Rain On My Parade<em>, mildly bouncing her legs up and down in remembered choreography, when the door across from her swings open. Rachel automatically looks up, briefly catching the eyes of the pretty young brunette exiting the room. The girl looks lost and disappointed, and Rachel remembers all too well her own early auditions when she'd expected to wow every casting director every single time, only to be greeted with indifferent expressions or the tops of heads bowed over phones. She's older and wiser—maybe a little jaded these days—but she's certainly learned enough to know that you never, ever let your show face slip. At least, not until you're alone.

"Rachel Berry," comes the call from the doorway, and Rachel stands, picking up her bag and walking into the room with confidence.

"Hello," she greets with her sweetest smile in place, taking a quick mental tally of the people sitting behind the table—the ones who could finally lift her out of perpetual chorus girl status. There are two gentlemen (one most certainly gay) and a woman who could probably go either way. Rachel bends over to place her bag on the floor, and she can almost feel six pairs of eyes fastened onto her jean-clad ass. She's not above using some of her better assets to her advantage. When she stands, she sees three smiles that weren't there before, and she grins. "Would you like to hear the ballad first, or the up-tempo?" she asks.

Rachel has a really good feeling about this one.

_xx_

Her good feeling disappears that evening. She reports for work as usual—fifth angel in the chorus of _Heaven On Earth_—only to find out when she checks her messages before curtain that she's failed to get a callback yet again. She sits in the dressing room with her head in her hands while the other girls shuffle around putting the finishing touches on their makeup.

"Hey, you can't be in here," one of them says.

"Please, I own the rights to your feathered derriere," Rachel hears, and she chokes out a watery chuckle as she glances up into the mirror's reflection to see Kurt Hummel—one of the show's creators and one of her closest friends for a couple of years now. He'd be the perfect guy for her if he wasn't one-hundred and fifty percent gay.

His twinkling eyes catch hers, and his grin fades as he crosses the room and sinks down in the chair next to her. "Oh, Rachel, honey. What's the matter?"

"I had an audition this morning. I didn't get the part," she sighs, collapsing into his side when he loops an arm around her shoulder.

"Do you want to leave us?"

"You know I love this show," she says, meeting Kurt's eyes in the mirror. "I love _you_."

His lips curve into a knowing smile. "But the ensemble not so much."

"I just want a part," she grumbles. "I trained. I'm a trained," she trails off, because he knows. She went to NYADA. She was the rising star of her class. Her mother is a successful Broadway actress. But none of that has translated to success. "I'm not complaining," she vows sadly.

"Just dreaming. Like all of us," he says, rubbing her shoulder soothingly. "It's just a matter of time, honey," he promises. "And speaking of that," he pulls back, grin firmly back on his face, "Santana and I are working on another brilliant Lopez Hummel production, and we really need a favor."

Rachel sits back in her seat, smiling a little. "How is Santana?"

"Oh, you know her," he rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand, "wrist deep in lesbian drama. Dani wants to procreate—can you even imagine Santana as a mommy?"

Rachel really can't. "What do you need, Kurt?" she prods, knowing that once he starts on the gossip, he can go for hours, and she doesn't have the time. She has to be on her mark in ten minutes. Ensemble or not, she's a professional.

"We're writing a musical based on Marilyn Monroe's life, and we have one solid number that we'd like you to demo for us so we can start shopping for backers."

Rachel's interest is immediately peaked. It's certainly not Barbra Streisand, but, "Marilyn Monroe? Are you serious?"

"I know, I know. It's insane, right? But Marilyn's life is just so ripe with drama. We're going to be focusing on her early career and her relationship with Joe DiMaggio."

"You can write a baseball number," she murmurs, already picturing it in her mind.

"Exactly," he exclaims, snapping his fingers. "So what do you say? Come help us out, and I promise I'll do whatever I can to get you in on the workshop."

She knows it's not a guarantee of a starring role, but it's a better opportunity than she's been handed in a long time. It's what makes her lips curl into a slow smile. "I say when and where."

_xx_

The song is brilliant. Kurt sits at the piano, playing the melody as Rachel sings.

_As the wise men once wrote  
>Never give all the heart<br>Well, it's easy to see  
>He was writing for me<br>I just wish I could play that part._

Santana Lopez stands on the other side of the piano, eyes closed and brows furrowed as she listens. Rachel watches the woman's face grimace a bit as she sings out the last phrase, and she stops immediately, asking, "Do you want that belted?"

Santana opens her eyes, tapping a fingernail on the piano top. "I want it to break my cold, black heart, Berry," she snaps, and Rachel frowns. "Look, you've got an amazing set of pipes. We all know that. We also know you can turn on the emotion when you want to, so stop playing it safe."

Rachel narrows her eyes. She hates it when people accuse her of being _safe. _"Hit it, Kurt."

_xx_

The video goes viral, courtesy of Kurt's prissy new assistant, Kitty. Rachel can't say she's unhappy about it, because it's her face and her voice getting hits on YouTube, and all the comments seem to be positive. Well, there are a few unnecessary references to her nose—nothing she hasn't heard a hundred times in the business—but other than those, there seems to be a genuine interest about Kurt and Santana's newest musical endeavor.

Two weeks later, she gets a phone call from Kurt, and she holds her breath as she listens to him speak. "Sue Sylvester is absolutely in love with the concept. She wants to produce the musical, but she…well, she wants us to audition Quinn Fabray," he spits the name.

Rachel bites into her lip. Quinn Fabray is probably the hottest choreographer and director on Broadway right now. She's already responsible for bringing two Tony Award nominated musicals to life, one of which is the reason that Kurt's voice is filled with contempt. They'd worked together once before, and to hear him tell the story, Quinn used every dirty trick and feminine wile in her possession to ensure that the producer deferred to her vision for the show over Kurt's. By all accounts, Quinn is a bitch to work with—a demanding perfectionist with no sense of humor—but she's also a genius. Rachel would kill for the opportunity to be in this show, so when Kurt asks her to workshop a number as Marilyn to see how Quinn Fabray will stage it, she has to count to five to stop herself from screaming _yes_ into the phone.

_xx_

Rachel arrives suitably early on the day of the workshop. Kurt gives her a hug, whispering, "Thank you so much for doing this. You may need to keep me from slapping that bit…" He snaps his mouth closed, pursing his lips into an unhappy frown, and Rachel turns to look at the two women who have just walked into the studio.

She recognizes the taller blonde as Sue Sylvester, and the woman makes a beeline for Santana Lopez, slapping her on the shoulder and saying, "Hey there, Funbags. Just took a look at the latest song you lazy gays sent over, and I'm telling you, if you keep popping out those showstoppers like the octo-mom pops out kids, we're gonna have a real smash on our hands."

Rachel snickers a little at the woman's crassness, but no one can really argue with the list of hit stage shows under her belt. The bulk of her attention, however, stays on the younger blonde, standing with a hand on her hip as she surveys the room and its sparse occupants with unmasked disdain. Quinn Fabray is even more beautiful than Rachel had been told, and she isn't ashamed to admit that she takes a moment to fully appreciate the visual. Sharp hazel eyes focus on Rachel in mid-perusal, and a single tawny eyebrow arches up. Rachel feels a shiver work down her spine at the measuring look, and she hurriedly glances away.

She nearly squeals when she sees her friend Sam saunter into the room, and his face lights up in a happy smile as he rushes toward her. "Rachel, baby," he calls out, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off the floor in a graceful spin.

"Samuel," she laughs, hugging him tight. "Why did no one inform me that you'd be here?"

"What? Did you think I'd miss the chance to dance in a baseball number? When am I ever going to have the chance to do that again?"

Rachel grins, patting his chest, happy to have another friend here. "You and your sports. You're worse than my ex-boyfriend."

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm so much better than him," he boasts, curling his arm around her waist and whispering in her ear, "Just ask _my_ ex-boyfriend."

Rachel's loud laughter catches the attention of the room, and she quickly composes herself, flushing when she notices Quinn Fabray's irritated gaze back on her. The blonde shakes her head, stepping to the front of the room and clapping her hands. "Everyone get warmed up. Quickly. In fifteen minutes, I'm going to show you the choreography, and I expect you to have it learned and perfected in twenty. I don't have all day to waste."

"Oooh," Sam breathes. "This is going to be fun."

Rachel nods, smiling a little, until Quinn glares sharply at them. "You two. This isn't social hour. Flirt on your own time." She turns her back on them and paces over to the corner where Sue and Santana are still talking. Kurt is standing a bit to the side, arms crossed and shaking his head at Quinn. Quinn sneers at him, cocking her hip, and Rachel knows that the bad blood between them goes both ways.

Sam chuckles, turning to face Rachel. "Come on. Let's get warmed up before she comes over here and spanks us."

Rachel chokes back a laugh, lightly punching Sam in the shoulder. "Stop it. I'd actually like to get on her good side."

"Oh, honey. Rumor has it Quinn Fabray doesn't have a good side."

"I don't know. Her backside is fairly attractive," Rachel drawls before she can stop herself.

Sam shakes his head. "Don't even go there," he warns.

Rachel sighs, silently conceding that she'd likely never have the chance to _go there_ anyway, even if her own romantic history has been fairly evenly split between men and women since her college days. She and Sam play catch up with their lives while they warm up—she really shouldn't have let so much time pass since she'd last seen him.

Their conversation stops when Quinn calls them all to attention. She walks up to Rachel first, eyeing her up and down before shaking her head. "Stand over there for now and pay attention. Watch me, and I'll take you through the routine when I've got your chorus line whipped into shape."

Rachel huffs, crossing her arms, but she does as she's told, standing on the sidelines next to Kurt as she watches Quinn quickly and precisely explain what she expects of the male dancers, stopping briefly to demonstrate.

"She's an inhuman robot, but she's damned talented," Kurt grudgingly admits, and Rachel hums in agreement as she watches the choreography come together.

Eventually, Quinn crooks a finger in Rachel's direction. "Time for your blocking, Marilyn."

Rachel bristles a bit, but she glides over to Quinn with a pleasant smile. If she could survive having Cassandra July as a dance instructor at NYADA, she can certainly manage to take direction from Quinn Fabray.

"Okay. I'll keep this simple for you, sweetie," she says, lightly gripping Rachel's shoulders and moving her into position while Rachel does her best not to react to being man-handled. "You'll start here, first verse, cross to center stage, but sex it up—you _can_ sex it up, I assume," Quinn checks with that damnable eyebrow inching up again.

"Yes," she hisses in response. If Quinn Fabray wants sex, Rachel will give her sex. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Good, so you cross center, like this," she says, strutting to Rachel's next mark with a hand on her hip and a sway to her step that makes Rachel's mouth go momentarily dry. "Turn and pose," Quinn instructs, lifting her arm and executing a sexy half-curtsey, "then quickstep to the table. The boys will lift you. Let them do their job and follow their lead. You were watching me take them through the routine?" she asks, and Rachel nods. "Good, let's do a run through."

Rachel's eyes widen. Quinn notices, and she grins a little smugly. "Don't worry, Marilyn. First time through, just follow me. I won't let you fall on your ass."

"My name is _Rachel_."

"I don't actually care," Quinn says, moving Rachel back to her mark and standing beside her. "Let's go everyone. From the top." She snaps her fingers, and begins to count, giving Rachel a nudge when it's time to push off.

Rachel tries to ignore Quinn shadowing her every step, counting in her face and calling out instructions, but it's nearly impossible. Flustered, she misses a few steps, causing Quinn to roll her eyes, but the woman gently corrects her as they move through the routine. Rachel realizes that her choreography is relatively simple, designed to be carried in large part by the dancers while still making her look good. She's fairly confident that she's got it down after the first run through, and she says as much.

"We'll see," Quinn says.

Sam brushes past Rachel as he takes his mark, leaning down to murmur, "Kick some ass, Rach."

She smiles in gratitude and takes her own mark, ready to perform. "I'm not getting any younger here," Sue shouts. "Wow me, people."

Quinn turns to her small audience of Sue, Santana, and Kurt. "Imagine Marilyn in a red dress," she glances back over her shoulder at Rachel and sighs, "with blonde hair and about fifty percent less nose."

Rachel squeaks, ready to forget her manners and tear into Quinn, but the musicians are already counting off, so she forces away her indignation and focuses on blowing Quinn Fabray's mind. And Kurt's, Santana's, and Sue's, of course. Rachel really, really wants this part, and she may suddenly have something to prove to Quinn Fabray.

The music begins, and Rachel lets herself become Marilyn Monroe as she sings, dancing her way through the choreography with every ounce of sexuality she possesses.

_So run me 'round the bases,  
>Put me through my paces,<br>And teach me all the things a slugger's lover  
>Should know!<em>

Quinn stands in the corner of the room, watching the performance with an unreadable expression, but her gaze keeps coming back unerringly to Rachel. Sue is grinning widely, Santana looks happy, which is actually somewhat of an accomplishment, and Kurt seems reluctantly impressed. Rachel's smile grows a little more confident, and she relaxes into her role, losing herself to the joy of performing. It's been such a long time since she felt this kind of rush.

Before she knows it, she's belting out the final lines of the song.

_Yes, my style and my fashion'll  
>Elevate the national<br>Pastime!_

Rachel and the dancers strike their final pose, and Santana lets out a loud whoop, clapping enthusiastically. "That was great. Wasn't that great, Kurt," she nudges her partner.

He grins tightly, nodding, "It was nice." She elbows him, glaring, and he rubs at his side. "Yes, great," he says to everyone.

"Nice work, everyone," Quinn concedes with the first trace of genuine smile that Rachel has seen on her face all afternoon. Santana goes over to speak with her as Kurt approaches Rachel.

"You were really great," he murmurs, bending to kiss her cheek. "Thank you so much for putting up with that and still being fabulous."

"I've worked with more difficult directors," Rachel shrugs. "And you can't argue with the end result."

"You're too nice," Kurt tells her.

Rachel frowns. "I simply have a healthy respect for talent and hard work."

She notices Quinn packing up her bag and getting ready to leave, and she makes the decision to try to end the experience on a positive note with the person she hopes will soon be her director, despite her somewhat abrasive personality. She walks over to Quinn with a friendly smile, clearing her throat slightly to get the woman's attention. Quinn's eyes meet hers, and Rachel swears there's a spark of _something _close to interest in them, and a tiny curve to pink lips that almost seems like an answering smile.

"I wanted to tell you what an honor it's been to work with you," Rachel says amiably.

"Yeah, " Quinn breathes. She reaches out to cup Rachel's shoulder, and their eyes meet for a strange, tense moment before Quinn pulls her hand back like it's been burned, mumbling, "thanks, Rachel." She shoulders her bag and heads for the door, leaving Rachel to stare after her with a frown.

Kurt comes up behind her, shaking his head. "I told you. Not even human."

Rachel nods distractedly, thinking that it has to be a some kind of accomplishment that Quinn Fabray finally addressed her by name. She steels her shoulders and nods again, more firmly, suddenly even more determined to get this part and prove to everyone, including difficult, (gorgeous) frustrating directors, that Rachel Berry is destined to be a star.


	4. The Con

**Author's Note: **Drabble written for a Samchel/Faberry plot bunny that never hopped any further than this. Originally posted for Professor Spork's birthday circa 2013.

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><p><strong>The Con<strong>

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><p>It was all Sam's fault.<p>

Of all the people that Quinn might have expected to rally around a heartbroken and despondent Rachel Berry, Sam Evans was at the very bottom of the very short list. As far as she'd known, they'd spoken to one another what? Four times in two years? Yet Sam had somehow become Rachel's new, very bestest friend. Ugh!

"We just have this connection, Quinn," he'd told her one day in mid July after she'd tracked him down at the Hummel's and demanded to know why she'd seen him outside of the Berry house with his arms wrapped around Rachel's diminutive form. Not that Quinn was being all creepy stalker or anything—she'd just happened to drive over there hoping to finally talk to Rachel because the girl hadn't answered her phone or replied to any of Quinn's text messages since she'd gotten back from her brief trip to New York. Seeing Sam there almost caused Quinn to drive her car up over the curb and into a mailbox.

"You wouldn't understand," he'd added, managing to piss her off even more in the process.

"Try me," she'd demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "Or better yet, why don't we call Mercedes and see if __she__ understands."

That's when Sam had slumped against the sofa, dropped his head into hands, and mumbled out a dejected, "We broke up."

Guilt settled into Quinn's stomach at the admission. She hadn't known. In fact, she hadn't talked to Mercedes or Sam at all since they'd all seen off Rachel at the train station last month. Sinking down next to him, Quinn tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?" she'd asked gently.

Watery green eyes came up to meet hers. "She's leaving for Los Angeles next week," and his tone might have been just a little critical, like Quinn should have known this already. "She doesn't want a long distance relationship."

"Oh," Quinn breathed out, feeling sympathy for her friends, and, "Oh," she said again as she began to understand his new-found friendship with Rachel.

"Yeah," he sighed on a nod. "I sort of get what Rachel's going through, and we kind of…bonded. Over…stuff."

It was the "stuff"—and Quinn's inability to let the new Samchel friendship continue to develop unsupervised—that had gotten her into trouble. Now, somehow, here she was, dressed in the black pleather (because Rachel was all about PETA) pants and slightly modified jacket that they'd used back in junior year for their mash-up, a red cape draped over her shoulders, and a big, foam hammer in her hands, standing in the middle of the Columbus comic convention and surrounded by a thousand and one costumed geeks. She felt like a fool. How in the hell had she let them talk her into this?

"Quinn, while smiling might be considered out of character for Thor," Rachel said, lightly tapping her shoulder to get her attention, "perhaps you might try to look a little less…ah…murderous."

She glared at Rachel—who Quinn really wished looked a little more ridiculous in her own black pleather cat suit and red wig. "I don't understand why I couldn't be Black Beauty."

"Because Black Beauty is a horse," Rachel huffed in a very offended tone. "I am cos-playing Black __Widow__, and you aren't because you don't even know _who she is_," she growled with her hands on her hips.

Sam, dressed as Captain America, chose that moment to bound over and wedge himself between them, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders with a wide, boyish grin. He'd forgone the mask, but his shield pressed uncomfortably into Quinn's biceps. "This is the coolest thing ever," he gushed. "I am so psyched." He landed a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss to Quinn's cheek. "Thanks so much for doing this with us, Quinn." Quinn couldn't help but grin at his antics, until he bent down to ghost a softer, lingering kiss to Rachel's cheek. "And thank you for being awesome and making us these costumes," he murmured in a disgustingly besotted voice. "You're the best, Rachel."

Rachel blushed as scarlet as her wig, and Quinn remembered exactly why she'd agreed to come. Captain America was not going to win this one.


	5. A Single Scar

**Author's Note:** Drabble written for the Scars prompt for Faberry Week, June 2014.

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><p><strong>A Single Scar<strong>

* * *

><p>Even after all these years, Quinn still hates the puckered, pale lines that crisscross her body. The stretchmarks that she'd dreaded at sixteen are invisible beneath the angry map of scars left by broken glass, twisted metal, and a surgeon's scalpel. Every mirror that she passes has been her enemy for years.<p>

No matter how many times Rachel has told her that she's still beautiful, inside and out, or reverently kissed each and every scar on her body and whispered words of gratitude that Quinn is still here, stronger for being broken, Quinn has never quite believed her.

Until now.

Quinn's lips trail a slow, careful path along the six inch scar that mars the otherwise perfect skin of her wife's belly, and she trembles, remembering the fear and helplessness that had paralyzed her as doctors had urgently spoken of fading vitals and emergency surgery—as what should have been a happy event turned life-threatening. Rachel breathes beneath her, sifting her fingers through Quinn's hair as her belly rises and falls steadily under Quinn's fervent kisses.

The soft coos of their precious, two-month old daughter tickle their ears from the crib in the corner of their room, and Quinn finally understands the beauty of a single scar.


	6. Appearance

**Author's Note:** Drabble set in the _Acceptance/Remembrance_ universe.

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><p><strong>Appearance<strong>

* * *

><p>The first time she sits down for a honest to goodness interview, Rachel is twenty-seven, and she's sitting right next to Quinn Fabray. She knows that she'll remember the moment exactly because it's about to be recorded for all of posterity. The lights in the studio overhead are blazing hot, and she's sweating beneath her make-up, and she feels like she might just throw up. A glance over at Quinn tells her that she's not the only one feeling nervous, so she attempts to smile because they'd both agreed to do this together. Quinn inhales deeply, letting her eyelids flutter closed for just a second, before she meets Rachel's eyes with confidence and reaches over to take her hand, entwining their fingers.<p>

The last few weeks have been simultaneously wonderful and terrible. The Tony Award on her shelf is wonderful. Quinn Fabray in her bed every night is even more wonderful. The constant swarm of paparazzi and barrage of gossip magazine exclusives since their backstage kiss had gone viral is not wonderful at all. Through it all, Quinn has insisted that she's never been happier, and Rachel can't do anything but believe her when she's gazing into those gorgeous hazel eyes. Still, this isn't quite the way that Rachel had imagined her star shooting to instant fame. She'd gone from a tiny taste of Broadway famous to national notoriety practically overnight, and almost every person that she and Quinn had gone to high school with had crawled out of the woodwork, selling a story about their past to make a quick buck.

So now they're going to set the record straight, as it were. Rachel would certainly have preferred her first appearance on a talk show be centered solely around her own accomplishments and fantastic talent, but she's become something of an expert at adapting to unexpected changes in her plans, and as far as those go, Quinn is absolutely the best detour that she's ever taken. She doesn't regret a moment, except perhaps the moments that they'd wasted on their way to this point. So when the cameras begin to roll, and Robin Roberts smiles and welcomes them, Rachel smiles right back, unashamedly keeping her hold on Quinn's hand and ready to tell the world how completely Quinn holds her heart.

She doesn't care if America falls in love with her or not, because Quinn already has, and that's all that matters.


	7. The Waiting

**Author's Note: **Drabble inspired by a Faberry prompt for Age Difference.

* * *

><p><strong>The Waiting<strong>

* * *

><p>Quinn hates waiting. That doesn't mean that she's incapable of doing it, of course. In fact, most people, after getting to know her and discovering little snippets of her history, would probably conclude that she possesses an endless wealth of monumental patience. This isn't entirely because she happens to be married to Rachel Berry, who some would argue is anything but patient herself and, therefore, requires at least three times the normal level of perseverance to endure. People who actually have the nerve to say that in Quinn's presence usually regret it pretty quickly. No, Quinn had learned to bite her tongue and bide her time during a childhood of enforced solitude as she'd quietly planned a thorough transformation from chubby to cheerleader and then committed to the long, painful process of shedding her skin. Then she'd relearned it during the long, painful years when Rachel had been firmly in her heart but completely out of her reach.<p>

Quinn is capable of being extremely patient.

Sometimes, it pays off in the most wonderful, unexpected ways. Rachel is hers now in every way imaginable.

But Quinn still hates waiting.

She clearly remembers the nine, long months of waiting for Beth to be born and her body to become her own again. Before that, she'd endured the five agonizing minutes it had taken to discover whether or not her life would be completely and irrevocably changed forever. That was worse than waiting for the period that never came.

It's amazing what time can do to change your perspective on things, even if those five minutes aren't any easier the second time around.

For one thing, this moment has been fully planned for months in advance. Of course, that's pretty much a necessity since they're both lacking one key piece of equipment to make this happen naturally, no matter how often they'd attempted it.

For another, there'd been no lonely, nerve-wrecking drive to Findlay this time—instead they'd made the purchase together with Rachel obsessively reading and rereading every word on every box for every brand of test that their local drugstore carries.

They'd bought three different kinds at Rachel's insistence because, "It never hurts to be thorough, Quinn."

Rachel's natural impatience had manifested itself the moment that Quinn had opened the box. Well, to be honest, Rachel has been bouncing off the walls for the last six days, and Quinn couldn't really argue with her insistence to find out as soon as possible when they both really, really hate to wait.

So here they are—Quinn sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, praying for the opposite result than she'd prayed for when she'd been fifteen, and watching her wife re-categorize her vinyl collection in an attempt to distract herself from their bathroom where three little, plastic sticks are sitting on the counter and waiting to decide their future.

Rachel freezes when the alarm on her cellphone rings, nearly dropping her original Broadway cast recording of_ Hair_ in the process. She looks at Quinn with wide, nervous eyes, and Quinn imagines that she's probably looking back with the same expression.

"Quinn," Rachel whispers uncertainly.

"Yeah."

"We…we should probably," she trails off, nodding toward the open bathroom door.

"Yeah," Quinn repeats, but her body suddenly feels incredibly heavy and weighted to the mattress.

Rachel doesn't move from her spot. Quinn doesn't know if she's ever seen her wife be quite that still.

"Um…are…are you going to look?" Rachel finally asks after a long moment.

"Yeah."

Quinn shakes her head in silent frustration at her sudden inability to function. She might as well be fifteen again when she drags herself up onto trembling legs, heart racing and dizziness overwhelming her, but this time, Rachel is there to catch her hand and squeeze it tight. They step into the bathroom together, and Quinn can feel Rachel practically vibrating next to her, but before they look at the tests laying across the counter, Rachel stops her.

"I love you," she says simply. "No matter what the result…we'll still be us. And we'll be okay."

Quinn smiles, feeling some of the nerves ease, though the butterflies are still going crazy in her stomach, and she unconsciously presses her hand there. "I love you too," she murmurs, leaning down to catch those soft, familiar lips in a chaste kiss. For luck.

She turns to the counter again, glancing down at the tests as Rachel hovers next to her, tucked into her side. She turns her face into Quinn's shoulder. "I can't look," she mumbles.

Quinn can.

And she does.

She sees three identical results before they blur behind her tears. Rachel's head comes up from her shoulder when a gentle sob shakes her body, and Quinn is immediately pulled into her wife's arms. "Shh, Quinn, it's okay," Rachel murmurs soothingly, stroking her hair with one hand as she rubs a gentle circle on her back with the other. "We…we can try again," she promises with a telling catch in her voice.

Quinn smiles wetly into Rachel's neck and hugs her closer before she gazes down at her tearful wife. She shakes her head, takes a breath, and tastes the words on her tongue as they fall out—sweet where they'd once been bitter.

"I'm pregnant."

Once upon a time, those words had felt like the end of her life. Now they feel like a beginning.

Quinn doesn't have to wait a single second for the joy to illuminate Rachel's face. It mirrors the joy in her heart. If she gets to see and feel this for the next nine months, for once, she might not mind the waiting.


	8. Real

**Author's Note: **Drabble set in _A Soft White_ universe.

* * *

><p><strong>Real<strong>

* * *

><p>"Oh, my god. Oh, my god. I love you so much. Casey is my absolute favorite character ever!"<p>

Rachel tries not to roll her eyes as she listens to the girl continue to gush over her wife. She and Quinn had been on their way out of the restaurant when they'd been recognized by three teenagers. The boy, tall and gangly with acne peppered on his forehead, had been the first to approach, with a timidly excited, "Excuse me, Ms. Berry. I just wanted to tell you that I adore your album. Your voice just gives me chills."

He'd been so polite about it that, of course, Rachel had gladly stopped to bask in his accolades and give him an autograph. That had been all the invitation his two friends had needed to come over to join him. The blonde girl was too shy to speak to either of them, though there's been an awed smile on her lips the whole time as she looks back and forth between the both of them with her autographed backpack (that her friend, Stanley, had asked them for on her behalf) clutched tightly between her fists.

The brunette, on the other hand, had barely spared Rachel a cursory glance before she'd zeroed in on Quinn. She'd held back just long enough to take pictures of her friends with both of them before demanding that Stanley take her picture with Quinn. Just Quinn.

Rachel is trying to pay attention to Stanley as he continues to tell her how he can't wait until she's back on Broadway now that he's (barely) old enough to see a show, but she can't keep her ears from tuning in on Quinn's—

"…biggest fan, I swear," the girl says. "You have such amazing chemistry with Ben," she points out, using the name of Quinn's costar instead of his character's name. "I've seen every video and interview of the two of you. That one from Chicago, when you guys were filming on location, where he, you know, puts his arm around you and gazes deeply into your eyes and says you guys are soulmates…I just about died."

Rachel frowns at that, ignoring poor Stanley and the blonde completely now. She'd hated that interview and Ben Easton's stupid flirty banter with her wife.

"Yes, well, Ben is…fun to work with," Quinn responds flatly, darting her eyes over to Rachel. She knows how Quinn really feels about her costar, but they're onscreen lovers, so she has to pretend that she doesn't think he's a sleazy womanizer when she's in public.

"He's just so gorgeous. And charming," the girl continues enthusiastically. "You're, like, the perfect couple. I was so happy when you finally, finally kissed on the show. It was so hot. It didn't even seem like it was scripted at all. Do you guys just go for it? 'Cause it looks so natural."

Quinn's eyes narrow. "It's completely scripted. And our director tells us what to do down to the position of our heads."

"But it's so believable. I thought you guys were really a couple for the longest time," she admits with a certain lilt in her voice that makes Rachel think she still believes that, despite the fact that Quinn is very much married—and married to a woman at that!

"That's why they call it acting," Quinn grits out with a fake smile.

Rachel can almost see the bitchier retort forming on Quinn's lips, and frankly, she's not feeling overly inspired to stop her. But Stanley and shy blonde girl seem really sweet, and Rachel really doesn't want to watch Quinn's twitter mentions explode with negativity if she goes off on an overeager fan, so she gives the other two kids an apologetic smile and steps closer to her wife. "Quinn, baby, we really need to go now." She gives the girl a sharp look—she's sure her own mentions later will be enough to trend _Rachel Berry is a diva_. Again. She doesn't care. "If you'll excuse us."

"Oh, yeah," the girl mutters with a frown. "Anyway, it's been such an honor to meet you, Quinn. Thank you so much for the picture. Give Ben a kiss for me."

Rachel slips her arm around Quinn's waist possessively and glares at the girl while Stanley and the blonde girl each tug on one of their friend's arms to get her moving. "Thank you, again, Ms. Berry. Ms. Fabray," Stanley calls after them as they drag the brunette away.

Rachel hears the blonde hiss at her friend, "I can't believe you said that in front of Rachel."

"Whatever," the brunette mutters audibly. "They won't last. Fabston forever."

"Shut up, Chrissy!" the blonde snaps, casting one final, adoring look back in their direction. "Faberry is the best ship. And they're real!"

Rachel's brows lift as she turns back to Quinn, who's shaking her head in annoyance. "Faberry?" Rachel asks. "Is that what the kids are calling us?"

Quinn shrugs, a smirk forming on her lips. "At least it's not Quinchel."


	9. Live It Up You're Growing Up

**Author's Note:** Drabble set in _In the Wilderness of Life_ universe.

* * *

><p><strong>Live It Up You're Growing Up<strong>

* * *

><p>She's been fidgeting nervously on the chair for ten minutes now, and all Quinn can do is stare at her, feeling her stomach coil with every silent second that ticks by. It's not unusual for Beth to stop for a visit, but she's normally all smiles and chatter about whatever she's doing in school or some humorous adventure that she's had with her friends. The unusual quiet is really disconcerting for Quinn.<p>

She wishes that Rachel was here because her wife is an expert at filling uncomfortable silences, but she'd taken Luke to their biweekly Mommy and Me playgroup. Personally, Quinn thinks that their son is still too young to care if he has other babies to play with, but Rachel insists that socializing him will provide important interpersonal skills and teach Luke how to share from an early age. Quinn can kind of see her point.

Beth takes a few deep breaths, pulling at the hem of her sweater, before she finally whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, "I…I had sex with Paul."

That coil in Quinn's stomach snaps, and it feels like everything inside of her just falls into the floor. She bites into her lip hard as her mind spins back to her own first time, and—

"Are you pregnant?" comes flying out of her mouth in a hard tone. Please God, don't let her be pregnant. Don't let her repeat my mistakes, Quinn prays desperately. She's only seventeen.

"No," Beth answers with wide eyes. "I…I mean…I'm pretty sure I'm not. It…it just happened last night."

"Did you use protection?" Quinn asks.

Beth blushes crimson and looks at the floor, twisting her fingers into her sweater. "Yes," she mutters. "Um…he…we used a condom…and…um…Mom m-made me start taking birth control last year."

Quinn slumps in her chair, exhaling in relief as she runs her hand through her hair. Thank God Shelby had more sense than Judy Fabray ever did. But then Quinn wonders why Beth is telling her this instead of Shelby, and she frowns. "Did…did he…pressure you?"

Beth's lips tremble, but she shakes her head no. "He…he's been wanting to…and…I thought I was ready…so…so I said yes…but," she trails off, shaking her head again, and Quinn feels her heart lurch.

"You weren't."

Beth shakes her head sadly. "It was really weird. And embarrassing. And it…it kind of hurt," Beth admits woefully, tears on her cheeks, and Quinn slides off her chair and kneels in front of her firstborn child, tugging Beth into her arms.

"Oh, honey. Are you okay?" she asks, stroking Beth's hair. "Did…do you think you need to see a doctor…or...?"

"No," Beth denies quickly. "I just…I really wish I'd waited. And I…I don't want to do it again."

"Then you don't have to," Quinn assure her.

"But he'll break up with me."

Quinn clenches her jaw, silently plotting ways to murder that little snot, Paul, and where to hide the body. "If he really cares about you, he'll understand and respect your decision."

Beth laughs sadly. "Did Noah do that?"

Quinn catches her breath. "That…was completely different."

"Is this how you felt? After you were with him? Like you just wanted to go back and undo it."

Quinn doesn't know how to answer that. "Oh, Beth. At the time, yeah," she grudgingly admits, "I wished that I had waited. That I'd been older and that my first time had been with someone I really loved," and definitely without the alcohol, she thinks, "but the one part of the whole experience that I never regretted was you."

It's true. She'd regretted Puck, and how young they were, and how her life had fallen apart, and that they couldn't keep Beth, but she could never regret bringing such an amazing person into the world.

Beth nods, wiping at her tears. "I'm really glad you had me," she says. "But God, if sex with my father was that bad, then you really got screwed."

Quinn chokes on a laugh, pulling her daughter back into her arms. "Trust me, Beth. It's so much better when you're with the right person." She frowns. "But I think you should wait another five years or so to find that out."

Beth only laughs into her shoulder, and Quinn sighs, wondering how the years have gone by so quickly. She hugs her daughter tighter and vows to hold onto every moment.


	10. Magical Mystery Tour

**Author's Note:** Ficlet written by request from an Anon on tumblr. I may or may not revisit this universe someday.

* * *

><p><strong>Magical Mystery Tour<strong>

* * *

><p>Quinn can't believe that they're still planning to get married. After what happened (to <em>her<em>) at their last attempt, she was really hoping it would be a few more years before they'd revisit a wedding. Or never.

She's currently nursing a wine cooler in Brittany's back yard in celebration of their Nationals win. The entire glee club is here, and Finn and Rachel are curled up on a lounge chair being all disgusting and coupley as they tell Tina all about their plans to tie the knot right after graduation—less than two weeks from now. Quinn huffs in disgust, frowning down at her bottle.

"Aw, no frownies," Brittany chastises, plopping down next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "I can totally get you the exotic berry if you want."

Quinn's head comes up, eyes widening. "Excuse me?"

Brittany points to the bottle in her hand. "The berry is much better than super gross fuzzy navel. I mean, who wants fuzz in their navel?" she asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh," Quinn breathes. "No…it's fine.

Brittany nods slowly, her eyes darting over to Rachel and Finn. "But I guess looking at that is super gross too."

"Yeah," Quinn agrees. "Sometimes I wish…"

"What?" Brittany asks.

Quinn shrugs. "Just…have you ever wished you could go back and do things differently?"

"Oh, that," Brittany dismisses with a wave of her hand. "I'm totally doing that. I'm repeating my whole senior year."

Quinn shakes her head. "No. I meant go back in time, knowing what you know now. Like before glee club started, when I could still get anything I wanted just by snapping my fingers," she mutters with her gaze fastened on Rachel and Finn.

"I could do that too if I want," Brittany claims. "I have a time machine."

Quinn stares at her for a few seconds. "That's…nice." Sometimes it's easier to just go along with whatever Brittany says.

"No. I totally do. I'll show you," she insists, grabbing Quinn's hand as she stands. Quinn doesn't resist—anything is better than watching Rachel coo over Finn Hudson.

Brittany drags her upstairs and into her bedroom, letting her go to dig around in her dresser until she turns around with a portable CD player and headphones and holds them aloft. "Here. See?"

Quinn gapes at her. "Um…Brittany. That's a walkman."

"It only looks like one on the outside. But trust me, it will totally take you back in time."

Quinn chuckles. "Yeah, it probably would," she concedes, thinking that it's a relic from the nineteen-nineties and the sheer nostalgia will throw her back to her toddler years. "Where did you even get one of those? I didn't think anyone made them anymore."

"It was my mom's," she admits. "But I totally tricked it out like the DeLorean," she brags, tilting it sideways so Quinn can see the weird little crystals that Brittany has glued to to top.

"Did you steal Rachel's Bedazzler?" she asks with a laugh.

"Don't be mean," Brittany pouts.

Quinn stifles her laughter. "Sorry," she manages with a smile.

"I'll totally let you try it if you want. Lord Tubbington uses it all the time to go back to his kittenhood and hide cigarettes for his future self."

"Oooo-kay," Quinn drawls before biting into her lip to keep from laughing again.

Brittany grins, bouncing in excitement and presses the CD player into Quinn's hands. Quinn sits down on the edge of Brittany's bed, looking down at the walkman in amusement as Brittany begins to rummage through a messy pile of CDs on her shelf. Quinn doesn't believe for a minute that it's actually a time machine, but she's willing to play along if it means she doesn't have to go back downstairs right away.

"Ah ha," Brittany crows in triumph, skipping over to Quinn with a Journey CD in her hands.

Quinn's brows furrow. "Brittany, did you get that from Mr. Schue?"

Brittany shrugs. "He had lots of extra copies. He really has some weird obsession with them."

Quinn sighs, suddenly less enamored with humoring Brittany. "I'm really not in the mood to listen to Journey," she grumbles, trying to hand the CD player back to Brittany.

Brittany closes her hands over Quinn's, shaking her head seriously. "The song is how you pick the destination," she explains. "Like, Lord Tubbington uses _What's New, Pussycat?_ when he goes back. You need to use _Don't Stop Believing._ It will totally take you back to when glee club started. Like you want."

Quinn rolls her eyes, taking the CD and slipping it into the walkman. "Fine. But I'm not singing along," she mutters, dropping the headphones over her ears.

Brittany puts a hand over the walkman before Quinn can press play, looking her directly in the eyes and very seriously telling her, "You're going to wake up in your younger self. When you want to come back, you need to listen to the song again. It's totes important that you do it with headphones, 'kay?"

Quinn chuckles. "Sure, Brittany," she agrees.

When Brittany smiles and removes her hand, Quinn presses the shuffle button because she doesn't really care what song she listens to. The one that fills her ears happens to be _Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'_, and she shakes her head as the music reverberates through in her ears. She glances down at the walkman, looking for the volume button to turn it down, but a sudden wave of dizziness overtakes her, and she clutches at the mattress, trying to look up at Brittany through blurry eyes. "Britt," she chokes out before she can't breath at all and the world fades away.

xx

When Quinn wakes up, it's to the sound of _Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'_ playing softly in the distance, and she automatically reaches for her head to drag off the headphones, only to find that they're no longer there and the song is still playing. A headache is pounding behind her eyes, and she slowly pries them open to see a hazy, white ceiling looming over her. It takes a moment for the softness of the mattress beneath her and the sheets wrapped around her body to register.

Her naked body.

"What the hell?" she mutters groggily, jerking up as she clutches the sheet to her chest. Another wave of dizziness overwhelms her, and she falls back onto the bed. "Brittany," she calls out. "Jesus fuck, what did you do to me?" she wonders in a panic. She'd only had the one wine cooler—not even a whole bottle. Oh, God, did somebody slip her a roofie? Her heart races as she prays to whatever God is actually up there that no one let Puckerman near her this time.

She hears the doorknob rattle, and she turns her head to look at the door as it swings open, but the door isn't where she thinks it should be in Brittany's bedroom, and before she can get her bearings, the mattress dips and bounces and something slams into her. Something small and warm and giggling.

"Morning, mommy."

Quinn's eyes open wide and panicked as they focus on a little girl with messy brown curls and golden-brown eyes grinning widely at her. "B-beth?" she whispers hoarsely, thinking that she must be dreaming. She must have passed out in Brittany's bedroom and whacked her head on the floor, and now she's in some kind of coma, having an out of body experience.

The little girl's smile slips, and she frowns, putting two little hands on her hips as she kneels over Quinn. "No, Mommy. Not Beth. Ava. You know that," she scolds. There's something very familiar about the girl that Quinn can't quite place.

"This is such a weird dream," Quinn mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to sink back into the mattress.

"Are you sick?" Ava asks worriedly, pressing a hand to Quinn's forehead. Quinn flinches at how real it feels.

"I'm going to wake up any minute," Quinn reassures herself.

Ava scrambles around on the bed until the mattress bounces again, and Quinn hears her feet thunk on the floor and begin to run away as she yells, "Mama! Mama!"

Quinn chuckles to herself, pressing her own hand to her forehead. Even in her dreams, she can't keep her kid with her. She takes a few deep breaths and wonders if she has to fall asleep in her dream before she can wake up in reality. As she's lying there, she hears footsteps again, heavier this time, before Ava's voice says, "See, Mama. I told you. She's sick."

The mattress dips again, this time on the other side, and a gentle hand carefully pries Quinn's palm from her head. "Quinn, baby, are you okay?"

Quinn's fly open again on a strangled gasp as she looks up into soft brown eyes, glistening with worry. "R-Rachel? Why are you in my dream?"

"Okay, you're really starting to worry me, baby?" Rachel murmurs, stroking the back of her fingers over Quinn's cheek. "I know we had a late night celebrating, but you seem really out of it this morning. Are you feeling okay?"

Quinn shakes her head slowly as she stares up at Rachel. "I don't think so," she whispers, finally pushing herself up off the mattress and into a sitting position. Rachel frowns, reaching out to steady her, and Quinn notices a flash of something from the corner of her eye.

When she gazes down at Rachel's very solid hands on her shoulders, she sees a diamond ring and matching wedding band on Rachel's left hand. Quinn bites into her cheek as she lifts her own hand and grabs Rachel's to examine the rings more closely, because that really doesn't look like the engagement ring that Rachel has been sporting for the last six months. And that wedding ring right next to it? It matches the one on Quinn's finger exactly.

"Holy shit," she gasps, looking at her own hand in horror.

Rachel's frown deepens as Ava giggles. "Mommy said a bad word."

Quinn's head turns to stare at the little girl again. The little girl who's calling her Mommy. The little girl that looks just like Rachel. Beyond Ava's gorgeous, little face is a photograph on the nightstand of Quinn and Rachel, wearing white and wrapped in a loving embrace.

"Quinn, what's going on?" Rachel asks in concern.

"I…I have no idea," Quinn admits. "But I really need to talk to Brittany."

She's still not completely certain if she's having a really realistic dream, or if Brittany's magical, time-travelling CD player actually works, but one thing is certain—this isn't sophomore year of high school. This is the future, and future her is married to Rachel Berry. And for some strange reason, she doesn't want to wake up or go home. And she's terrified of what that means.


	11. Not A Care In the World

**Author's Note:** Drabble set in the _Worlds Away_ universe.

* * *

><p><strong>Not A Care In the World<strong>

* * *

><p>Quinn Fabray is <em>not<em> in his kitchen!

She's also not in her clothes! Kurt doesn't quite react fast enough to avoid seeing every inch of Quinn when he breezes into Rachel's bedroom, thinking he'll find his roommate frantically tearing through her makeshift closet in search of the perfect outfit for her date tonight with Quinn.

Who is naked.

In Rachel's bed.

Asleep.

"Oh, my God!" he squeaks, slapping a hand over his eyes and spinning around as he attempts to blindly stumble out of the room without getting tangled up in the curtain. "Oh, my God!" he repeats, trying to ignore the shadowy image of pale skin and lady bits that's currently burned into the back of his eyelids.

When he unexpectedly slams into a body, he screams, thinking that Quinn has somehow caught him and is about to tackle him (naked) to the floor and beat him to death for creeping on her while she was sleeping, but a hand is immediately pressed over his mouth as Rachel hisses, "Be quiet."

Kurt drops his hand from his eyes and stares at Rachel. "Quih aykeh ehu beh," he mumbles into her palm, causing her eyebrows to furrow before she slowly removes her hand.

"What?"

"Quinn is naked in your bed," he tells her needlessly.

Her eyes widen, and her face turns a deep crimson. "I can explain," she says in a rush, trying to drag him away from her bedroom.

"The nudity is fairly self-explanatory," he muses, finally beginning to recover from his shock. He hadn't thought that they'd progressed that far in their relationship yet, but good for them if they had.

Rachel shakes her head. "No. It's… She was dirty."

Kurt slaps his hands over his ears this time. "I don't want the details."

Rachel glares at him as she grabs his wrists and drags his arms down. "She was splashed by a truck on the street, and her dress got covered in sludge. It's currently in the laundry downstairs."

Kurt raises his eyebrows. It seems like a plausible explanation, except, "What happened to her underwear?"

Rachel blushes again. "She wanted to take a shower. I…I offered to wash her undergarments as well."

"Oookay," Kurt drawls. "But I'm still having trouble with the naked in your bed part. Because she is," he reminds her with a grin.

"She…um…she must have fallen asleep when I was downstairs," Rachel speculates, her eyes darting all around the room.

Kurt's grin grows into a smirk. "Rachel, sweetie?"

"What?"

"You do realize that you're currently only wearing a silk robe that really doesn't cover much of anything?" he points out, fully taking in her appearance—complete with mussed hair.

Rachel huffs, pulling her robe tighter around her body and scowling darkly at him. "You…we…I…damn it, Kurt! You weren't supposed to be home for another hour," she growls, turning on her heel and stalking into her bedroom before closing her curtain with a dramatic flourish.

Kurt laughs, and then he decides to go back out and forage for dinner elsewhere, because he really doesn't want to be in the apartment with Quinn and Rachel naked in the bedroom.


	12. Halloween Time

**Author's Note:** Ficlet written for Halloween set in the _Once Upon A Hallows Eve_ universe - one year later.

* * *

><p><strong>Halloween Time<strong>

* * *

><p>"I can't believe I let you talk me into this again," Quinn mutters as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, dragging her fingers through the pink strands of her hair with a frown. She also can't believe that she'd done this to herself willingly once upon a time. "I look like cotton candy. Did I look like cotton candy back in high school?" she asks sullenly.<p>

"Well, you did tell me that Brittany once compared you to a jolly rancher that had fallen into an ashtray," Rachel reminds her in amusement as she steps behind Quinn and into her line of sight.

The boots that she's wearing this year don't give her the same height as last year, so she can't quite drop her chin onto Quinn's shoulder. Quinn is kind of grateful for that since she'd probably end up with a gray smudge on her pink—very, very pink—satin (prom) dress. Okay—so it's not _actually_ a prom dress, but it could have been one with its capped sleeves and modest neckline. At least it doesn't have a full-length skirt, falling to about her knees, but Quinn honestly doesn't want to know where Rachel had found the hot pink cowboy boots that she's currently wearing to complete the look.

Rachel, on the other hand, has once again managed to end up with the sexier costume—this year it's skintight jeans tucked into red cowboy boots and topped with a form-fitting gray tank top that's very flattering to her figure. Since the weather has turned colder, she's also thrown on a red and black plaid flannel shirt that she's left hanging open, and her dark hair is combed straight and falling over her shoulders. Gray makeup covers every inch of skin that's exposed, and her neck bears two parallel red dots over her left jugular.

"Tell me again why you get to be the vampire while I'm dressed like giant piece of bubblegum?"

"Because I wanted to see you with pink hair again," Rachel admits unabashedly, flashing a grin that shows off her fangs as she hugs Quinn from behind.

"Don't smear your makeup on me," Quinn warns, though she'd unable to resist leaning back into her girlfriend's body.

"Really, Quinn. Who do you think you're dealing with?" Rachel questions incredulously. "I'm a Broadway performer. I know how to set stage makeup." And to prove her point, she presses a sloppy kiss to Quinn's neck, scraping her fangs over the skin in the process.

"Hey! No biting," Quinn chastises with a giggle, smacking Rachel's arm, but Rachel proves her point by leaving Quinn's skin free of that gray gunk that she has on her own face. "At least, not until later," she amends as she turns in Rachel's arms

"_I'm gonna drink the red from your pretty pink face_," Rachel sings playfully.

"That's kind of gross," Quinn complains, letting her eyes roam over Rachel's body to take in the full effect of her costume—Marceline, the Vampire Queen to Quinn's Princess Bubblegum. "Where did you even stumble across this show?" she wonders again.

Rachel's eyes dart to the floor, and Quinn suspects that she's blushing underneath her makeup as she admits, "I may have seen someone post some fanart about it somewhere."

"Were you stalking tumblr for your mentions again?" Quinn asks with a knowing smirk.

"Maybe," Rachel mutters guiltily. "But Bubbline is totally canon, Quinn," she gushes excitedly. "It's all there in the subtext."

"That's what you said last year."

Rachel frowns. "Well, the judges of the couples costume competition seemed fully on board with the concept. They did give us a trophy," Rachel points out.

"A second place trophy," Quinn reminds her—Sherlock and Watson had edged out their Evil Queen and Emma Swan.

Rachel's eyes narrow in determination. "We're going to win that grand prize tonight."

Quinn has her doubts about that, but she's not nearly as into the competition aspect of this as Rachel is. "Just don't go biting anyone for authenticity."

"I would never bite anyone but you, baby," Rachel promises.

Quinn laughs. "I know how you get, Rachel. Your Evil Queen nearly took off Captain Hook's other hand last year," she muses with a fond smile.

Rachel scowls at the memory. "It shouldn't have been on your ass."

"Well, I don't think you'll have to worry about defending my honor while I'm wearing this outfit," Quinn comments, gesturing to herself. The pink overload is a little nauseating if you stare at it for too long.

"I don't know. I think you look positively edible," Rachel purrs, shuffling closer and slipping her own hands onto Quinn's ass before she steals a kiss. She pulls back with a pleased hum. "You taste like pink," she breathes.

"Funny," Quinn drawls before she slaps Rachel's ass and urges, "Let's go. The sooner we get to the party, the sooner we can come back here, and I can find out if you put that makeup on everywhere."

"You know I'm always fully committed to my characters, Quinn," Rachel teases. "And speaking of that," she says, skipping over to her suitcase and retrieving something from inside before she turns around. "Your crown, princess," she presents with a dramatic bow as she holds out the gold tiara in her hands.

Quinn arches an eyebrow, looking it over skeptically. "You want me to wear that?"

"You have to," Rachel insists. "It's an essential part of your costume."

Sighing, Quinn accepts the crown and turns back to the mirror, gingerly placing it on her head. It's not exactly one of the jeweled tiaras that she used to covet back in high school, but she supposes that it isn't too tacky. She can totally make this look work. It is Halloween after all. "There. Are you happy?"

Rachel smiles sweetly, leaning into Quinn. "Very happy, my sweet, pink Bonnibel."

"Oh, no. We are not doing the roleplaying again, Rachel," Quinn warns.

"Call me Marcy," Rachel singsongs, grabbing Quinn's hand to pull her out of the room.

"Can I call you crazy instead?" Quinn grumbles, following after her with a reluctant smile.

Rachel glances back, sticking her tongue out at Quinn. "You love my crazy."

"God help me, I do," Quinn concedes as she falls into step with her girlfriend. Despite her good-natured grumbling, she knows that they're going to have another very happy Halloween, followed by an even happier ever after.


End file.
